Kenny lies
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Stan is upset. Randy wants to know why. Not slash.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own South Park, or the song this fic is inspired by. They are owned by Matt and Trey, and Jason Michael Carroll, respectively.

**Warnings:** Um...implied abuse, I guess. And general angst, so beware.

**A/N:** This little snapshot was inspired by a song I was listening to. It's a country thing, so for some reason, it made me think of Kenny. The song's called 'Alyssa Lies'. Now, normally, I don't write angst, because I figure that there's too much of it in real life and fanfiction should be reserved for fluff and such, but this idea popped into my head, and it refused to let me get back to more productive business until it was all nice and written out.

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Randy Marsh was sitting on his couch late one afternoon, watching the television with only vague interest and trying valiantly to stay awake. So he was dozing slightly when the door suddenly slammed open and his whirlwind of a son stormed in, throwing his Spiderman backpack onto the carpeted floor angrily. Randy sat up with a start and watched as his little boy huffed and sat down on the floor in front of him, crossed his arms and stared at the tv with a glare on his face.

"How was school Stan?" he asked tentatively.

"Bad," he answered.

"Well, what happened?"

Stan didn't answer for a while. He continued to stare at the television screen, but Randy knew he wasn't watching the news that was being broadcast on it.

"Come on Stan," he coaxed, getting up off the couch and walking the few steps it took for him to lean against the TV set. "You can tell me."

Stan looked up at him, and Randy was surprised to see that his big eyes were bloodshot, as if on the verge of tears.

"Kenny lies Dad," Stan said.

Then without elaborating, five-year old Stan sighed, stood up and turned away. Randy somehow knew without asking that he'd be going up to his room, and that no one was to disturb him.

Randy frowned. He knew that Stan had made some new friends on his first day of preschool a week ago, and he vaguely remembered Stan mentioning a little boy in an orange jacket who always had a scarf covering his face. Randy brushed it off, thinking that after all, boys would be boys and Stan would just have to get used to it. After all, Randy remembered telling his fair share of lies back when he was in elementary school.

Later on that night, after Randy said goodnight to Shelly, he peeked into Stan's room to see if he was getting ready for bed. Much to his surprise, he saw his son kneeling before his bed, his tiny hands clasped and his big eyes closed.

"God bless Mom, and Dad, and Shelly, and Kyle," Randy heard him pray. Stan took a deep breath and bit his lip with his eyes closed. "And my new friend Kenny too," he added. "Boy God, he really needs you bad because Kenny lies, God. He lies everyday at school. He lies to the classroom, and even to Mr. Garrison. He lives just on the other side of the train tracks, so it's not far from here. You could just head on over there after you're done listening to my prayer. But he lies, God, as he tries to cover every bruise and explain them away with a smile. He tells me not to say anything too, God, and isn't that making me a liar too? Please help Kenny God. Amen."

Randy pulled himself out of Stan's room before he could open his eyes. He tilted his head back until it hit the hallway wall with a soft clunk and took a deep shuddering breath to refrain himself from saying any curse words. A deep feeling of pride swelled in his chest even as the enormity of Stan's problem began to rush over him. Randy must have the best, most thoughtful son in the world, to care so much about his little friend.

Randy couldn't sleep that night. He kept thinking about Stan's little prayer, about how he was so angry he was close to tears that afternoon. He tried to think of a way to calm his son down, but kept coming up short. He was wondering what he could do to help Stan's little friend Kenny, and didn't he know that boy's Father?

By the next morning, Randy knew exactly what he had to do. But when they got to school the next morning, he heard the news. Mr. Broflovski was the one who told him that day, and Mr. Garrison came up to both of them, dressed head to toe in black (even that strange puppet's clothes had been changed, he noted) to offer them both his condolences. Randy swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and looked down at Stan, who was tugging on his pant leg.

"Why's everyone so sad, Dad?" Stan asked.

Behind him, he saw the little Broflovski boy coming to stand beside his son, an exaggerated frown upon his little face. Randy looked to Gerald, but he only shrugged in a way that let him know he was just as choked up as Randy was. Finally, he felt a single tear slip from his eyes, and he took a deep breath.

"Kenny won't be at school today boys," he said slowly, crouching until he was almost eye level with his son and his friend. He placed a hand on Stan's shoulder, looking his son straight in the eyes. "He won't be lying anymore Stan. Kenny lies with Jesus now, and no one will be able to hurt him anymore."

_Because there's nothing anyone would do, _he added silently to himself. Stan gave him one of those watery smiles that only young children know how to give and turned to the other boy next to him. Stan took his best friend's hand and they stared at each other silently for a while, as if having a conversation with only their eyes. Stan nodded and turned back to Randy.

"But why Dad?" he asked quietly. "Why did Kenny have to lie?"

Randy found that he didn't know the answer to that question.

"I don't know son," he said.

Then he stood, brushed some dirt of his dark blue jeans, and patted his son's head, wishing for a moment that he didn't always wear that red poof-ball hat so he could ruffle his son's hair in that standard 'Dad-being-reassuring' manner.

"Have fun at school today," he said, and even to his own ears the words sounded hollow, false.

"But Dad, I don't get it," Stan said as he turned and walked to the car. "Why does Kenny lie?"

Randy shook his head to hide his tears. He started the car and drove home, sending a wave to his son as he went.


End file.
